The Sharpest Lives
by TheGallifreyanWinchesterOf221B
Summary: Sherlock comes out of a book. The Doctor visits their motel. Looks like a normal night for the Winchesters
1. The Book and The Box

"Alright, you know the drill." John Winchester said as he put his duffel bag on his shoulder, his left hand on the knob.

"Shoot first, ask questions later and watch out for Sammy." A fifteen year-old Dean answered.

"That's my man." John said and got out of the motel room they were currently staying at. Dean locked the door after him and walked back to Sammy's bed, the boy was already sound asleep, still, Dean tucked his brother in and whispered, "Goodnight Sammy."

Dean proceeded to the kitchen, he drank a glass of water and brought another one with him and put it on his bedside. He dug under his pillows and found his book, smiling to himself, he placed a pillow on his lap and positioned the book on it.

He brushed imaginary dust off the cover of the book. Dean though it was stupid of course, but he loved that book, it's the first one he owned. He remembered buying it in a bookshop at Pontiac, Illinois and the owner of the shop –a daft old man- gave him the complete full series even when he barely had enough money to buy one. Not to mention he was lucky enough that John allowed him to carry the books around.

The book by the way, was the genius creation (even if the author admitted to not liking it himself, Dean always remembered that, but he could never blame the _awesome _author) of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle –The Sherlock Holmes novels.

Dean opened _The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_, he had finished the _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes _last night and he had to say, it was completely and absolutely riveting. He turned to the first chapter of the book; the first case, "Silver Blaze". _Oh interesting title, _Dean thought, sparing Sammy's sleeping form a glance before reading.

_"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning._

_"Go! Where to?"_

_"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."_

_I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted…_

Dean was deeply immersed to reading. At some point during the night, he put the pillow back on his head and laid on his back, his eyes never leaving the book. He was so into his reading he didn't seem to noticed a man in a long black trench coat was standing beside his bed.

"I suggest you pay attention to me now, we have a case to wrap up, Dean Winchester."

Dean turned his head to the direction of the voice, which was beside his bed. He looked up at the curly-haired man in front of him, he was wearing a long black trench coat and had sharp cheekbones making his eyes sharper. Dean gulped before saying: "Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, only one in the world, I invented the job." The man answered proudly.

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean retorted, a smirk gracing his lips.

"Yes shit, Dean. Now get up, like I said we have a case to wrap up."

"No we don't! You're not real, I'm probably dreaming." Dean indignantly said, putting down his book and brushing his eyes as if the movement will make the man in front of him disappear. When the man didn't disappear, he started pinching his arms.

"You're not. You're not an idiot like most people are, Dean. Don't make me believe otherwise."

"I won't make you believe otherwise, Mr. Holmes. But you have to make me believe you're real first." Dean demanded as he continuously pinch his arm.

Sherlock looked exasperatedly at him but he sat on the edge of the bed. Dean scooted up and folded his legs beneath him, making more room for the man to sit. Dean looked at Sam's bed then quickly stood up, right hand going under the pillow in search for something. He gripped the gun he kept under his pillow tightly as he point it at the man sitting on his bed.

Sherlock ignored the gun and said "Your brother is in the kitchen. Studying."

"Its the middle of the fucking night, mister-"

"Yes, and you know your brother, he is a 'nerd' as you put it. I'm not lying to you, Dean. You can see for yourself." The man said, his fancy British accent was getting under his skin, but Dean thought, _if he really is Sherlock Holmes of course he will have a British accent, what the hell?! Shut up, Dean. That can't be true. He's something. A supernatural creature, yes, that's a perfectly sound-_

"I'm not a supernatural creature nor I am any kind of monster. I'm Sherlock Holmes, you've read about me. I'm real." Sherlock said. Dean glared at him accusingly, daring him to say more.

"How long?" Sherlock asked in a bored voice.

"You got three minutes before I empty a bullet to your brain." Dean answered.

"Not the brain, Dean, I value it greatly. Fine, you bloody well get this… Remember that bookstore you bought those books from? It was the first one that published the stories about me here in America, about 1900s, before the first World War. But there's more to it than that. I, myself can't explain it. But the copy you have is the last of the originals-"

"It's not old-looking enough." Dean interrupted.

"That's because it doesn't have to. What it needs to do is cope with the current environment to find an owner." Sherlock answered and he continued, "Like I said, the copy you own is the last of the originals, and it allowed me to get out into the real world." Sherlock finished, looking at the barrel of the gun Dean was holding in front of him.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?!" Dean answered frustratedly. It didn't make any sense, how could the 'last of the original copies' bring a fictional character into the real world?

"I dont know how, Dean. But it did. It brings me here, into your world. And don't tell me my appearance is wrong because you pictured me differently." Sherlock said, answering the question Dean didn't have a chance to voice out.

"Yeah, how do you know that?" Dean said, flexing his jaw as his patience started to grow thin.

"Because that book has had three past owners, children much younger than you described exactly how I looked: black curly hair, sharp cheekbones, lean body, piercing blue eyes, wears a long black trench coat over an impeccable suit. Those children's parents returned the books to the store, not believing their children's stories about me and fearing for their children's sanity."

"And you think my father won't fear for _my _sanity?" Dean asked incredulously.

"No, I expect that you won't tell him. Judging by his lack of presence and where you are currently staying I know for a fact that he hardly stays with you, except when transporting you from one place to another." Sherlock answered. "I know you're interested, Dean, and I know you're not as idiotic as you claim to be. Your brother, Sam. isn't the only one who has brains." he continued.

"No shit, Sherlock. Get out of here before I shoot you." Dean said.

"Well then, I guess I'll see you around, Dean Winchester." Sherlock said.

With a blink of an eye the man in front of him disappeared, Dean blinked a few more times then he scrambled to his feet. Holding the gun firmly as he navigate his way to the kitchen. He found Sam sitting in the kitchen, notes and books sprawled in front of him on the table.

"Hey Sammy." Dean greeted, tucking the gun in the small of his back.

"Oh, hey Dean." Sam said, his voice shaking slightly.

"Is something wrong Sam?"

"No, I'm fine Dean." Sam answered too quickly and continued, "I'm just tired, but I'm nearly done with this. Go back to sleep. I'll sleep soon too." Sam lied.

Dean stared at his brother, he knew he was lying but Dean let it slip since he was tired himself with his encounter with 'Sherlock' earlier.

"Yeah, okay." Dean said and turned back towards his bed.

That night, Dean kept staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep. There was a loud whooshing noise, but Dean ignored it –believing it was from the other motel guests. He didn't notice that night that Sam didn't return to his bed.

* * *

><p>There was a whooshing outside of the motel. Soft blue lights illuminated the window and disappeared just before Dean came into the kitchen and Sam had feigned interest to the notes and books in front of him.<p>

Sam decided to wait ten minutes, just to make sure his brother was already sleeping before checking out the source of the whooshing and blue lights. He stood up after seven minutes.

He carefully opened the door of their motel room, internally thanking the owner and maintenance that nothing creaked. He stepped out of the room and left the door slightly ajar. Sam looked around, observing the parking lot. The other motel rooms were closed; some only had a lamp illuminating the room.

Sam stepped out of the foyer when he heard a door open and closed, he looked at the source of the sound then a man's voice came.

"Oh, sorry. Wrong destination." A man said, he was clad in a long brown trench coat over a blue suit and he was wearing a...

"Red converse, really. What are you, a converse endorser?" Sam said.

The man was looking at him with widened eyes, then he asked, "Who are you?"

Sam stared at the man, then he answered, "Why should I tell you? You just stepped out of a 1950s London Police box. You're wearing converse shoes with a suit and trench coat. Sorry sir, but I was told not to talk to anyone I don't know and trust anyone immediately."

"Well, we're done with the talking part, I guess we'll get to trust part later on. I'm the Doctor, by the way, nice to meet you." The man- the Doctor- said, holding out his right hand for a handshake.

Sam didn't take the hand, instead he asked further, "Doctor? What Doctor?"

The man look at him with wide eyes again, but this time his eyes were filled with surprise. "Uh, uhm. You -you're supposed to say... Doctor Who?" the man said, scratching the back of his head in a nervous –or surprised manner.

"I'll only tell you this once: if you want to play games with a child, then you've come to the wrong one. I don't play games, I have more pressing matters to attend to." Sam said seriously.

"Yes, I get that. And it's the Doctor, just the Doctor."

"Huh." Sam scoffed and turned around to back inside the motel room.

"Wait!" The Doctor shouted as he ran towards the boy in front of him.

"Don't shout, you'll wake my brother!" Sam scolded.

"Sorry. But I have to ask. What's the date today?" the Doctor asked.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Sam shouted making his voice slightly lower in an attempt to not wake Dean.

"You know you're too young to curse, right?"

"Fuck that! I'm 11 years old. Whatever, its **October 10, 1994**. Will you go now? I thought there was something out here, I was mistaken."

"Ooooh, 1994! A very fine year. Thank you. I'll go now and step inside this box." The Doctor said, pointing at the Blue Box and smiling almost childishly at Sam.

The Doctor decided then to return to his TARDIS. Sam was fidgeting in his place, still not trusting the man in front of him and yet he had this urge to talk to him. So when the Doctor paused to fetch his key in his pockets, Sam ran up to him and held his hand out, "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. Sorry for being rude earlier, I guess I was just shocked, like I said, I dont usually talk to strangers."

"Does this mean I'm not a stranger to you anymore?" The Doctor asked.

"If you want to." Sam said shyly, turning his gaze downwards but still holding his hand out for a handshake.

The Doctor took Sam's hand and shook it firmly, "Fine by me. It's nice to meet you Sam Winchester."

"Likewise, Doctor... Wow, that's really weird, I feel like a patient."

"You'll get use to it, Sammy."

"No don't. Don't call me that." Sam said, shaking his head.

"Why? Do you want me to call you Samuel instead?" the Doctor asked, smirking.

"God no! Just Sam. I'm Sam, just Sam."

"Okay, Sam. Come on then, I'll show you around." The Doctor opened the TARDIS' door and stepped inside.

Sam frowned but followed the Doctor anyway, how exactly are they going to fit in _that _box? It's small and confining, even though Sam was still quite small there's no chance they would fi-

_Whoa! Hold that thought Sam. How did that happen?!_

Once inside the TARDIS, Sam's eyes widened, it was huge. Like spectacularly huge with a vertical tube with controls surrounding it in the center: a console. There was an opening that lead to a corridor. There was stairs that led to a basement under the console. The walls were adorned with round things and the lights were a bit orange-y but was still very light: it looked like a machine.

Sam stepped out again and looked at the box's exterior, he made sure it _was _the same London Police Box, the Doctor just keep looking at him, smiling as he leant on the railing at the TARDIS' doorway. Sam stepped inside again, this time with narrowed eyes as he looked intently at the Doctor.

"What is this? Who are you, really?" Sam asked, gripping the door open, ready to run if necessary.

"This is the TARDIS. It stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. Specifically a Type 40 TARDIS. This machine was used by the Timelords of Gallifrey. It can take you anywhere in all of time and space. I'm the Doctor and I'm a Timelord, the last of the Timelords." The Doctor said. Sam noticed how his voice seem to falter when he said the last part.

"All of time and space?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"Sure! Where do you want to go?" the Doctor asked enthusiastically.

"I want to see Pluto." Sam said.

"I think you need to go and find more appropriate clothes for that, its pretty cold on Pluto." The Doctor said, looking at Sam's outfit. By God, the boy was wearing his PJs.

"I don't think I can return to the motel and leave again without being caught." Sam said.

"Hm. Yes, your brother." The Doctor looked at the motel through the TARDIS' still open door. "Well, I think you have to close that door first.

Sam beamed brightly at him before dashing to the motel door and softly closing it before he strode back to the TARDIS.

"Well, time and space. That means you can return me at the same time right?"

"Yes. Just make sure you remember the time and date." The Doctor beamed at him, he's really liking this boy.

"October 10, 1994. 1:37 in the morning." Sam said.

"Well come on then! I still have to take you to a market to buy you some more appropriate clothing, I don't think I have any to fit you. Never looked that small before." The Doctor said.

Sam was practically shaking in excitement as he watched the man –no the Timelord- in front of him run enthusiastically around the TARDIS' console, pushing buttons and pulling levers with his hands and sometimes his foot.

Sam gripped the railing tightly as the TARDIS groan and shook, all that time the Doctor was still smiling eagerly.

"Are you okay Sam? Don't worry it's fine, she's always like this." He reassured as the time machine continue to shake and groan.

"I'm good." Sam answered before the TARDIS stopped.

"Here we are then!" The Doctor said enthusiastically, already bounding to the door.

"Wait!" Sam called out and the Doctor stopped and turned to look at him.

The Doctor raised his eyebrow "Yes, Sam?"

"You still haven't told me what Timelords are."

"Oh." The Doctor said, the look in his eyes seems so distant suddenly, but Sam waited for him to answer.

"I'll tell you while we look for your clothes." He finally said and Sam smile at him, all teeth and dimples as the strode out to the market. The Doctor locked the TARDIS and he gestured for Sam to follow him The place is noisy and full of people –creatures from different planets. Sam doesn't know how he easily accepted all of this but he _is genuinely _enjoying himself.


	2. The Planet and The Murders

Sherlock's verse is set to Victorian Era like in the books. so i borrowed some characters in RDJ's Sherlock Holmes films. but its not that big.

* * *

><p>Sam and the Doctor kept walking around the market side by side. Sometimes the Doctor would point at something and say some stuff about it. But the thing that kept Sam a bit suspicious was how they could read the words in the market when this was supposed to be an alien place.<p>

"Doctor, are you sure you're not kidding? If we're in an alien market, how come I can read those," Sam said pointing at a certain store which sold old artifacts –some of which was glowing and some were emitting odd noises which made Sam frown in confusion, "That says 'The Red Market: Artifacts in tacked, get it in tow' –that's peachy. How can I read that? Hm?"

"Oh, that's the TARDIS translation circuit, it basically translates every language for you or any other person who had a ride in her. And by every, I meant every single language –"

"Every language? So I could be speaking in Latin right now? Like, exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas-"

"No, don't- don't do that, that's really not going to do it." The Doctor said, holding his hand over Sam's mouth but not quite blocking it, then he resort to holding up a finger, "It can translate everything except Gallifreyan." The Doctor explained.

"Oh, is that so." Sam said as they resumed walking, but it was not a question so the Doctor did not answer him.

"Why don't we exchange stories Sam? I'll tell you something about myself if you tell me something about you too."

" In the words of my great brother, 'no chick-flick' moments." Sam retorted and the Doctor laughed.

"That counts as one you know. Okay we Timelords have two hearts. Next!"

"Wait what?"

"You heard that right Sam. Timelords have two hearts, now tell me something about you, it's your turn."

"Well, uh, uhm I'm not really interesting you know? I live my life crashing in motel rooms from one place to another, my brother Dean is the one who always takes care of me. I guess he's my brother and father and mother at all the same time." Sam said, "I care for him so much."

"Well, you have Dean, never lose him." the Doctor smiled down at him, "I used to have people like Dean, you know. Some I left behind, some I couldn't save, some died as I continued to live and some had to forget me to have the life they deserved."

"Don't say that, no one knows what others deserve. The only one who knows that is the person himself." Sam said.

The Doctor look at Sam this time, really looked then he smiled _this boy is special_, he thought. And he was right of course. They continued to walk through the market until Sam got his appropriate clothing.

Once back inside the TARDIS, Sam realized that the Doctor wouldn't really say anything to him about the Timelords or his home planet, Gallifrey. Sam knew when to drop it, so he did this time.

"Are we going to Pluto now?" Sam asked instead.

"Do you know that some time in the near future, the solar System would 'disown' Pluto and deem it as a dwarf planet? Making the solar system just 8 planets." The Doctor said.

"Well that makes my argument and reason valid. At school, during Physics, the teachers would always be brief about Pluto, they just say that it was pretty cold there since it's too far to receive the sun's heat immediately. I felt like they ignored Pluto and that the solar system was a family and in the words of that thing from TV, family means no one gets left behind." Sam explained.

"You're right. And it's Lilo and Stich you're quoting." The Doctor said, approaching the console and slowly pushing buttons now and then as if he was taking his time to talk to Sam for a while.

"What?"

"That thing from the TV. It's called Stitch." He said, turning to look at Sam, "We can't land though, neither of us can survive the cold."

With that the Doctor resumed his work –he pushed buttons, pulled levers this time he even looked at a monitor Sam hadn't noticed earlier. The monitor showed the planet Pluto and Sam excitedly bounded to the Doctor's side.

"Is that it?!" Sam exclaimed ecstatically.

"Yes, we're going to hover above it, close enough that you can see at least the planet's surface, wear your jackets, okay?"

"Aye, captain." Sam said, walking to one of the bags and brought out his jacket, it fitted him just the right way, he put it over his shirt. The TARDIS shook slightly then stopped. The Doctor smiled in approval at the monitor then gestured for Sam to come over with him as he bounded off towards the door.

Sam pushed it open and marveled at the sight before him. Countless and billions of stars all twinkling at the same time, and there just a little distance below the TARDIS was Pluto.

Sam smiled so brightly as he looked down at the planet before him. It really was small compared to the other planets that you can still see in the distance but it was beautiful at the same time. Not the beautiful with so many colours and amazing features, it was beautiful in the simplest ways. Its white land creating a stark contrast against the darkness of the sky and the twinkling stars. "Its beautiful." Sam said while smiling down at the planet.

"I know." The Doctor simply said as he sat at the doorway looking down at the planet. "No one actually got to live there. Visit, yes. But just for a little while. The weather is adamant about keeping the planet all on its own and that no one can stay longer than at least 2 hours give or take. Even the creatures who could stand extreme coldness can't stand the temperature of Pluto."

"It must be lonely." Sam commented as he took a seat beside the Doctor.

"Oh, it's lonely alright. But the planet is content all on its own. But that doesn't mean she doesn't need any more than that. A few visits here and there cheers her up." The Doctor said, his eyes twinkling and Sam knew right there and then how wise the man in front of him was, how clever and experienced he was and it made Sam trust him even more.

"How would you know?" Sam asked. He stared at the planet, it looked like it was snowing and raining and anything-that-might-cause-coldness in there.

"Because the only thing about those beliefs humans have and what I believe to be correct," The Timelord paused and looked at Sam, "Is that everything in this universe has life. Even if you don't see it breathing, even if you say it's dying or it died -that means it had a life once. Every single thing. Even if the planet supposedly died, I hope and believe that it's still out there." the Doctor finished with a light chuckle.

Sam didn't answer but instead he contemplated on what the Doctor had told him. The silence was anything but awkward –it was comfortable, hell, it was companionable, it stretched for a while until Sam asked, "Do you think dead people go to heaven?"

"You know how sometimes people make things up in order to cope with something tragic?" The Doctor asked and Sam hummed his acknowledgement. "I don't believe in those things. What I'm trying to say is that it's an idea. A beautifully constructed idea. Much like the devil –it's an idea that people fed on for years. But that doesn't mean that it's not real."

"You're confusing, you know that." Sam said.

"I'm not. You're just not trying to understand me. But why would you asked?"

"You really don't know anything about me, Doctor." Sam sighed.

* * *

><p>"Your family hunts creatures –anything bad that crawls during the night- that gives you a training on hand to hand combat, on how to carry yourself in a fight and while in danger. You'll do good, Dean."<p>

Dean groggily woke up to that deep voice. Refusing to acknowledge it, he put a pillow over his head and tried to go back to sleep.

"Four missing people, all last seen leaving the church. The only thing connecting them is that their hearts were sent back to church and that they are obviously churchgoers. Pay attention to me. I should also say that the hearts are still intact."

Dean then sat up and threw his pillow at Sherlock who was sitting at the foot of his bed, "I thought I told you to fuck off."

"I thought I told you that I'll see you around." Sherlock retorted.

"Oh well, I'll say it again, fuck off."

"Do all Americans curse like a sailor at a young age? I tried not to believe that, don't make me, Dean Winchester."

"What do you want with me?" Dean asked. "And where's Sam?"

"Will you stop asking about your brother for a while and listen to me?" that got Dean's attention, "Four people went missing and their hearts was sent to the church where they were last seen, do you recognize it?"

"No."

"Dean-"

"No, Sherlock. Because the creatures that I know don't leave the hearts intact. Now can you leave?"

"Go get dressed. Here," Sherlock said, throwing a pair of trousers, a dress shirt, a suit jacket and a coat to Dean, "Wear that."

"Why?" Dean asked, looking at the clothes -they seem to fit him.

"You're coming with me. Don't be too hard on yourself I know you want to."

"What about Sam?"

"I'll return you at the same time. I promise, you'll be back in your world and no time would have passed."

That's all Dean needed to hear and he got out of bed, he continued to the bathroom figuring he couldn't take a shower -he washed his face and brushed his teeth before he put on the clothes. Like he said, they fitted him just the right way. Dean got out of the bathroom where Sherlock immediately threw a belt at him. Sighing exasperatedly, he put on the belt and sat in the side of his bed where a pair of black shoes was waiting for him.

"You brought all of this with you?" Dean asked.

"Hmm." Sherlock answered as he put Dean's book under his pillows. "That should do it."

"What should do it?"

"It's in my hypotheses that we need to leave the book where you want to return before you go to my world, so that you can go back to the same place too." Sherlock explained, "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Dean answered as he stood up and faced Sherlock.

The Detective held out his hand, Dean immediately took it and the next thing he knew he was at London and someone was running up to them like they hadn't just magically appeared.

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! I'm so glad I finally found you, your landlady told me you were on a trip." The man said, he was wearing an official looking uniform, his hat tucked under his arms.

"Constable Clark." Sherlock greeted.

"Yes, sir. Sir, Detective Inspector Lestrade requests your presence at Westminster Cathedral immediately." The constable said.

"Another one?"

The constable hesitated, looking suspiciously at Dean. "He's with me constable. It's alright." Sherlock said.

"I –uh yes, sir. The fifth one." The constable said, he was fidgety Dean observed, he seemed anxious about discussing the subject in public, they must be keeping it a secret until they can't hold back the information any longer. Dean understood, people would freak out if they knew that there had been multiple murders and the police can't do anything about it. Oh not to mention the heart thing.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked, making Dean frown at the question.

"Anderson, sir."

Sherlock huffed and said, "I can't go." Dean looked at him with wide eyes that said: _what, is this the childish petty feud?_

And Sherlock gave him a look that said, _yes._

"But sir, we require your assistance." Constable Clark argued.

"Yes, but I also _need_ an assistant." Sherlock insisted and Dean got it, he needed to pass as Sherlock's assistant in order to roam around London with him.

Constable Clark hesitated again but after a few fidgets here and there he agreed, "Okay, sir. Please be at the church immediately. I need to go now. Inspector Lestrade must be wondering what's taking me so long."

Sherlock nodded and the constable ran the other way, Sherlock gestured for Dean to follow him as they walked down the rest of the street, Dean had no idea what it was called.

"You didn't told me I was going to be your assistant!" Dean said, keeping his voice lower than he intended so as to not catch other people's attention that he was arguing with the great Sherlock Holmes or whatever.

"What else do you think I required Dean? Besides, that's just what people have to know. I can't just go around and say "hello, this is Dean he's from the real world, and did you know this world we live in is fictional?" people would get hysterical." Sherlock finished as he stepped into a foyer with the door marked with the famous adress: 221B

"Wow." Dean said, the argument with the world's only consulting detective completely forgotten.

"Close your mouth, flies might get inside, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't taste nice." Sherlock said in amusement as he held the door open for Dean to go in.

The young man let himself inside the flat. It was messy in an orderly fashion that was described in the books. The two were greeted by an elderly woman, she was smiling as she walked towards Sherlock and hugged him, "Hello, Sherlock, dear. That Constable Clark is looking for you, said that Inspector Lestrade wants to see you immediately."

"Yes, hello too, Mrs. Hudson. I met Constable Clark and we'll go to see Lestrade immediately. But I think Dean here would need breakfast first."

"Oh is this Dean? Nice to meet you, young man." Mrs. Hudson greeted and Dean smiled warmly at her.

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Hudson." Dean answered and Mrs. Hudson hugged him before ushering them into the kitchen.

"As you can see, the kitchen is pretty clean compared to the rest of the house." Mrs. Hudson said as she served the two their breakfast.

"That's because I was forbidden to execute my experiments at any point outside my bedroom." Sherlock commented helping himself to some bread.

"That would also help you acquire a flatmate, young man." Mrs. Hudson retorted, "Where did you met Dean here? He's too young, I bet he doesn't even work yet."

"Oh Dean is a friend, and yes he's pretty young he doesn't have to work, his family can support him." Sherlock lied smoothly. Dean didn't say anything and decided to rest his attention to the food in front of him.

"I see. Well, just leave your dishes in the sink after you're done eating, I need to clean the rest of the house, you know how you never clean, Sherlock." With that Mrs. Hudson departs the kitchen leaving Dean and Sherlock alone.

"That was a smooth lie." Dean commented.

"Nevermind that, eat quick, we have to go to the church immediately." Sherlock said, standing up, he called out of the window where a man shouted back.

"Prepare me a carriage, I need to go in 15 minutes." Sherlock ordered.

"Where to sir?" a man from outside the house asked.

"Westminster Cathedral." Sherlock said. Dean heard the man outside run off to somewhere as Sherlock returned to his seat.

"So these murders, how long have they been going on?" Dean asked.

"Every week. Victims disappear during Sunday after church service. Then the church will receive the heart at any time of the week."

"And no connection among the victims? Aside from the fact that they've all gone to church?"

"No." Sherlock answered. Dean continued to eat as he searched his brain for any memories of supernatural creatures he knew that could do this.

He found nothing, of course.


End file.
